After only a tiny taste twice exiting the station, we finally explored the city. Edinburgh was transformed under a clear blue sky; the clouds of the day before had blended the blackened stone buildings into abgrey haze, but today an ancient array of rooftops spread to the ocean beyond.

The Royal Mile’s beauty was somewhat diminished by the identical tartan tat shops that lined either side (we were told they were all owned by the same Indian family), so we escaped the tourists to discover the hidden gems. We enjoyed ice cream (served by the ubiquitous Australian) on the grass as bagpipes played, we found a pretty shop called Godiva at the Grassmarket that hurt our collective wallet with its Scottish designed clothing and explored the cavernous Armstrong’s vintage shop, I pined for the amazing kilt jackets that were made for more manly shoulders. Here we also found olives and tasty cheeses in the market stalls, then with a hint of culture confusion had Nachos at an Irish pub.

We balked at the 16 quid entry to the castle and chose to admire it from afar, opting instead for a jaunt through the cemetery, alas still no Buchanan’s in sight. Then homeward (perhaps we already felt more at home there than the family who were still whirling from the move), grabbing baguette’s from Peter’s Yard and passed all of Edinburgh spread out in the park enjoying a picnic under the summer sun.